


your majesty

by harscrow



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, set in the aftermath of Raw [08/28/17]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harscrow/pseuds/harscrow
Summary: It’s not a secret that Roman has got thick skin and shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world. Dean saw him doing that with grace countless times. His man can take a lot, takes a lot on a daily basis and never complains. It’s a work of art, his resilience, a perfect match to Dean’s.That’s why looking at his face now feels like a punch in the gut. As wrong as if an ancient sacred tree started crouching down, unmerciful wind gusting too hard around its leafy branches. Dean nothing but an ashen spectator there, a role he refuses to play.





	your majesty

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> from this [prompt list](http://bigbadroman.tumblr.com/post/164686467183/send-me-a-number-and-a-paring-and-ill-write-a)  
> you can also find this work [on my tumblr](http://bigbadroman.tumblr.com/post/164764505023/ambreigns-with-32-pretty-please-bonus-if-roman)   
>   
> 32\. “Your eyes are red… Were you crying?”

It’s not a secret that Roman has got thick skin and shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world. Dean saw him doing that with grace countless times. His man can take a lot, takes a lot on a daily basis and never complains. It’s a work of art, his resilience, a perfect match to Dean’s.  
  


That’s why looking at his face now feels like a punch in the gut. As wrong as if an ancient sacred tree started crouching down, unmerciful wind gusting too hard around its leafy branches. Dean nothing but an ashen spectator there, a role he refuses to play.  
  


“Your eyes are red… Were you crying?” He asks. It sounded better in his mind. He regrets it, wishes he could take those words back and replace them with something softer. As Roman always does, carefully entering the comfort zone whose gates Dean opens for him alone. “Ro?”  
  


“Uh, ’m gonna be fine. Just need a moment.” Roman clears his throat, then looks away. Lips pressed together, he tries to avoid Dean’s worried gaze by angrily shoving a towel into his gym bag.  
  


They’ve spent years side by side, as partners, as friends, as lovers. The confines of those definitions are blurry by now, they all melt into each other, blooming into something wider. Larger than them. Larger than life. ‘Don’t do this’, Dean thinks. ‘Don’t hide yourself from me.’  
  


Roman freezes, eyes closing on a painful perspective. It has happened before, and it lead Dean to believe the man he chose to share his life with can read his mind at times. There must be some truth to that, because he almost crashes into Dean a couple breaths later, one arm wrapping Dean’s slender waist as if he’s trying to smother the icy chokehold of his anxieties in the heat of their bodies.  
  


Bringing a hand up to his nape, Dean holds him close, lets his fingers slide through Roman’s hair and rest there. He can feel Roman relaxing against his neck, sighing onto his skin.  
  


“Roman. What is it? This about what happened out there?”  
  


They stand in that locker room, in healing silence until Roman breaks it with a few muttered words. “I wavered. My mind went blank for a moment and I fucked up in front of everyone. Proved them right.”  
  


“The fuck does that mean?” Dean rasps, anger stinging his heart. He tilts his head back to look at him. “You never waver when it matters. They’re still wrong about you.”  
  


“Are they?” The man croaks, lips twisting in a bitter smile. “Or have I been lying to myself all this time?”  
  


“Roman, don’t you dare. You were there for me when I believed I was nothing more than ruins. You were there for me and reminded me the truth.” Dean’s voice softens, as he feels the other man slipping away from his touch. “Lemme do the same now.”  
  


“Dean, I-” Roman shakes his head, sagging down onto the bench. “I don’t want your pity.“  
  


“Nah, big dog. Lemme talk, not out of pity, but out of love.” Dean sits next to him, wiry hands taking a hold of Roman’s. “Whaddaya care what a buncha’ losers have to say ‘bout you? Like they know shit. They don’t see you, I do.” With an urgent delicacy he’s only ever granted a single person on Earth, Dean’s thumb brushes lightly against Roman’s wrist. “I see you wakin’ up every morning with that fucking crown on your head. You don’ even need to put the thing on, you jus’ always wear it. It’s yours, like- ’s part of you. You’re a king, Roman. Let ‘em be peasants. Let Cena be the damn fool making ‘em laugh.”  
  


A sigh is followed by gentle dark eyes meeting his own once again. Dean swears he never realizes how easy it is to get lost into them until it happens. And it’s like rediscovering the extent of Roman’s goodness every time. All of it compressed into the purest of looks.  
  


“You always know what to say, don’t you?” Roman tries a warm, shy smile. One of those he’d have plastered on his face during a lazy Sunday morning spent in bed.  
  


“Thought you knew by now, my tongue does wonders.” Dean lets the thing slip between his teeth, flashing it proudly. “And lemme be honest with you. Yours does too.”  
  


Roman must be feeling like proving said point, and Dean gladly welcomes the kiss. Soft-paced yet stubborn, the sweet chase lasts long enough for them both to end up panting. Each other’s taste a lingering promise on their wet lips, they hear the sound of laughters and approaching steps.  
  


“You gonna put that skillful tongue of yours to better use once we get back to the hotel.” Dean pauses, shooting a sly glance between Roman’s legs. “Keep that scepter in your pants, we need some booze first. Let’s go grab a beer, your majesty.”  
  


Many things Dean loves about Roman. It’s kind of an infinite list. But one of his favorite? When the man chuckles, a couple cute wrinkles gathering around his eyes, and his handsome face turning into a reflection of the sun itself. “Please, don’t call me that.”  
  


“Whatever you say, _your majesty_.”


End file.
